I am the one percent, but not in the way you might think.
The graduation rate for my high school is about 80 percent. For those who do end up with the cap and gown, about half will go on to postsecondary studies; the other half will opt for military service, entry into the workforce, and who knows what else. From those who choose college, the divide between two-year and four-year schools is almost even, with the percentage for the former a bit higher than the latter. I believe the percentage of students who choose an out-of-state four-year university is about 15 percent (of students who opt for the four-year track in the first place). In my senior class of approximately 430, only four of us went to Forbes’ top-listed schools, all on significant scholarship and grant aid.
In a conversation with an admissions dean during my second year here, I was told frankly—coldly, even—that my high school isn’t really a feeder school for Wesleyan.
A product of these various statistics, I think of myself as part of the one percent (figuratively: perhaps the math works out; perhaps it doesn’t). Despite the shitty hand I had already been dealt, I had scrambled to the top of the ranks and had been selected for the best track for upward social mobility: education. And not just at any other school, but at Wesleyan University: forward-thinking, prestigious, and full of all things liberal arts.
And as someone in this particular one percent, being at Wesleyan can at times be an incredibly lonely experience.
It is hard being a first-generation and lower income student; this is a sentiment that needs not be repeated. Success stories are cherished, passed on, and become torches that light up our paths. What I want to talk about is the loneliness that accompanies being such a student here at Wesleyan.
My feelings are compounded by my family’s situation. I was raised by a single immigrant mother—authoritative and ever frugal—and surrounded by two older siblings who did the “practical thing” and got “practical” jobs. Around the kitchen table, there are no discussions of classic literature, no mention of classes I’m taking, no discussions of hopes and dreams for the future. The most probable word after “college” from my mum is “money” or “job.” (Sorry, President Roth, you haven’t convinced my mother about the whole liberal arts thing.) The burden of family wealth and our socioeconomic trajectory rests on my shoulders. I am the one who made it to a nice college. I am the investment. I will be the doctor, the lawyer, the scholar: that success story they are all waiting for.
Wesleyan is great and spectacular, but there is this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I am somehow just left out of everything, that perhaps everyone else goes to a super-secret meeting on campus that I’m not invited to. It is impossible to ease up—to forget about the money and bills—and difficult to seek help about these issues because it seems like no one else is going through this, and the adults in my life up to this point haven’t been the most helpful either. Academic help is equally hard to obtain when office hours and TA sessions conflict with my classes and multiple jobs. (Professors, I swear I’m really interested in the class material and would love to talk to all of you, but I just can’t.)
It is easy enough to blend in, to keep myself hidden in the masses of my more endowed peers. There are experiences I can’t talk about, like traveling abroad or asking parents for advice about college, though I’ve learned the language, the mmm’s and the ahh’s to facilitate the conversation. After a while, this bitterness goes away. I start to believe that we are all equal and on the same level, that we totally understand each other, and that, you know, I can totally get behind this learning for learning’s sake thing.
But it only takes one comment about online shopping, one invitation to the dance show with paid tickets, one reminder from the Office of Financial Aid, and I am sent back to my one-percent status: alone, worried about whether I’m getting what I’m paying for, damning the uselessness of a BA, and wondering how exactly I am supposed to support my family of four after graduation.
Wesleyan has been a great home for the last three years and remains so now, in my last, as I save up the money to pay for my final semester this spring. I have felt betrayed by its promises, overwhelmed by the options here, and thankful for the experiences I’ve had. There will be those who will doubt my experiences, saying that I am just a lucky scholarship kid, a face for the cover of the admissions packet (actually…), or that I am just an attractive statistic for the University profile. There may be truth in these statements, and I mention the latter one specifically. I always remember that I am that one percent. Though it is sometimes isolating, I find strength and power in my identity as a first-generation, lower-income student. I’ve made it once, right? After all, when the stakes are as high as they are now, there is no turning back.
If you have a story you would like to share please email Aidan Martinez at ajmartinez@wesleyan.edu.
1 Comment
Aaron
First and foremost, congratulations on your academic achievement so far. You should be proud of overcoming the adversity to get this far. It seems like you are learning a lot and the education and degree is something that they will never be able to take from you. I hate all of that status-conscious stuff. You deserve to be where you are, you should never let others make you feel inferior, just because of money. Truth be told, many of the richest nowadays didn’t exactly earn it “the old-fashioned way”, as Piketty’s book explains. I bet there are many there though that do not judge you at all, but rather respect you very much, and maybe it’s just a matter of finding the right friends and organizations. There must be a lot of activities and clubs and all that that don’t cost a lot or are free that you can get involved with and enjoy with like-minded students and faculty. Particularly in the fine arts, there need not be any pay-to-play requirements, heck, just writing some great poetry and discussing it is available everyone, and your background is definitely more interesting and inspiring and applicable to true, real artistic endeavors. Good luck to you!